The Crawley Sister You Were Meant For
by magfreak
Summary: Mary and Matthew set up a date between Matthew's friend Tom Branson, and Mary's sister Edith. An EAST Alliance story.


_A little bit early, but here is my contribution to EAST Alliance Day (for those of you not on tumblr, that's Edith, Anthony, Sybil, Tom). I'm an S/T shipper and don't usually write Edith/Anthony, so I hope I've done them justice. Modern AU. Pretty self-explanatory. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Tom Branson. That seems a good, solid name. What's he like?"

Edith Crawley turned to her younger sister. "How should I know?"

The two young women were on Oxford Street in London, walking to the Starbucks Coffee location where Edith was to meet her blind date, a set up courtesy of the eldest Crawley sister, Mary, whose husband, Matthew, insisted that his best friend from university, newly moved to London, had been single for far too long.

"Didn't Mary tell you anything about him?" Sybil asked.

"He's originally from Ireland, was at Cambridge with Matthew and has been a foreign correspondent for the BBC for the last six years in Brussels, Beijing, Tel-Aviv and most recently Washington. He's back in London to work for the Financial Times covering politics."

Sybil's eyes widened. "Impressive. Well, at least you know he'll be interesting, right?"

"I suppose," Edith said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You _suppose_? Edith! Are you honestly telling me you wouldn't have a million questions for someone who's led that life?!"

"You know I'm not into politics, not like you."

"So ask him about what the food was like in China."

"I hate Chinese food."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "OK, why did Mary set you up with him if you were going to take this attitude?"

"Why me and not you, you mean?" Edith asked playfully.

"It's a fair question considering your level of enthusiasm at the moment," Sybil answered with a laugh.

"Apparently, it was Matthew's idea. He thought since I work for a newspaper as well we'd have something to talk about. Although a theatre critic and a political writer don't really have that much overlap, I'm afraid. And he's Matthew's age, so Matthew might have thought Tom too old for you."

"Matthew's only eight years older than I am, but fair enough. So what does he look like?"

"I don't know. Mary wouldn't show me a picture. She said that would make it more 'fun'—a proper blind date."

Sybil laughed. "Classic Mary."

"She enjoys watching me squirm."

"Well, let's hope he's your type."

"And, according to you, what is my type?"

"Easy. Robert Redford meets Alan Rickman meets Oxford history professor."

Edith raised her eyebrows. "That's actually quite spot on. What about you?"

"_My _type?" Sybil brought her hand to her chin as if in deep thought, causing Edith to laugh. "Hmmm . . . probably something like Niall Horan meets Tom Hiddleston with a splash of rugby player."

"Who's Niall Horan?"

"The cute one from One Direction."

"You know their names? Really, Sybil."

"I'll take no judgment from the girl who went to _two_ Take That concerts."

"I was ten!"

Sybil laughed, then felt Edith grab her arm.

"We're here," Edith said, pointing to the Starbucks two doors away.

Sybil turned to face Edith. "OK, are you ready to have a good time?"

Edith smiled. "Yes. I am expecting the best."

"Good! Well, good luck," Sybil said giving Edith a hug. Then, stepping aside, she added, "Off you go, then!"

"You're going in first!" Edith said as if it were obvious.

"What?!"

"Why do you think you're here!?"

"You want me to go on your blind date with you?"

"No, not exactly. Just walk in ahead of me and see if there's anything I should be prepared for."

"Like what?"

"You know . . . shaven head, weird tattoos, earrings—anything that draws attention so I'm not taken by surprise."

"OK, scope him out, then text you?"

"Yes, once I've sat down and it looks like it's going all right, you can go." Seeing some hesitation in Sybil's eyes, she added, "Pleeeeeease!"

Sybil rolled her eyes, but with a smile. "All right, but you owe me."

"I'll name our first daughter after you."

Sybil laughed then turned to go, but turned back around quickly to ask, "How will I know which is him?"

Edith laughed remembering how Tom chose to identify himself in the e-mail exchange they'd had when setting up their date. "He'll be wearing a sticker that says, 'Kiss me, I'm Irish."

Sybil's eyes lit up. "He has a sense of humor and he's self-aware! Oh, do give him a chance, Edith! I don't even know what he looks like and I already feel like he's a catch."

"Well, then get on with it!" Edith said gesturing for her sister to go in.

With another "good luck" to her sister, Sybil walked up to the doors of the coffee shop and stepped through. She walked slowly toward the line to order, trying to scan the room as discreetly as possible. But she was looking at each person there a little too thoroughly, because as Sybil approached the line she ran into the person ahead of her. In an effort to quickly step away, she stumbled backwards and would have landed flat on her arse had a man sitting at a table just next to the line not quickly hopped up and caught her. Sybil had been about two feet from the floor when he did, so in the man's arms, she looked a bit like he'd dipped her in the middle of a provocative dance.

Once she realized she wasn't going to hit the ground, Sybil looked up into two pools of blue and for a moment forgot whether she was falling down or falling up. He pulled her up slowly, not taking his eyes off hers. Sybil clutched at his shoulders, and once she regained her balanced, stepped away slowly.

"Sorry," she said, quietly, trying to hide her embarrassment.

He smiled.

_Oh my_, Sybil thought.

Feeling a bit light-headed, Sybil looked down in an effort to avoid the intensity of his stare.

That was when she saw the sticker.

She's been rescued by Tom Branson.

Edith's Tom Branson.

_Bugger._

She instinctively looked toward the glass door, where Edith was looking in aghast at the turn of events, and in seeing her, Sybil pushed away any disappointment she might have felt about the fact that this was her sister's date and not someone sent by the fates to rescue her from her own clumsiness (and loneliness).

More than anyone Sybil knew, Edith deserved someone special.

"Sorry, again, thanks for your help," she said, moving to walk around him to join the line.

The man grabbed her elbow gently as she walked past him. "Excuse me, but are you Edith?"

Sybil should have just shaken her head immediately, but looking into his eyes again caused her to hesitate, and she looked back to the door again.

"Um . . . no," she answered finally, shaking her head. "I mean—definitely no."

He smiled again. "Are you sure?" He asked jokingly.

Looking again at the door, Sybil saw that Edith was rolling her eyes, having made the assumption, apparently, that the jig was up. Sybil laughed at her own inability to keep a straight face. "I'm on a reconnaissance mission."

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"That's Edith," Sybil said pointing to her now red-faced sister, who had no option but to walk in. "I'm her sister. She sent me to check you out. She's a bit nervous so go easy."

Tom laughed as Edith approached. Turning toward her, he said, "Edith, nice to finally meet you. Tom Branson."

Edith smiled and shook his hand. "Lovely to meet you, too. So sorry about this."

Tom replied with an easy smile, "It's OK. I might have tried it too if I knew anyone in town other than Matthew." Turning to Sybil, he added, "Though I hope for all our sakes you're not an agent with MI-6 or anything. It didn't take much for you to give up the game."

"No kidding," Edith said.

Sybil laughed. "I was foiled once again by gravity."

The three stood looking at each other a bit awkwardly, until Sybil said, "Well, he looks like good stock, sis, so I'm just going to order something and be off."

With that Sybil turned, leaving Edith and Tom to sit down at the table he'd saved for them. As soon as she sat down, Edith saw that there were two cups on the table.

"I hope you don't think it presumptuous, but I ordered you a coffee. The line was long, so I thought this way you wouldn't have to wait when you arrived."

Edith crinkled her nose in distaste. "Actually . . . forgive me, but I don't drink the stuff."

Tom's smile faded a bit. "Oh."

"No problem," she said. Looking over to where Sybil was in line, she yelled out "SYB!"

Sybil turned back to the table and saw Edith holding up the cup. She smiled and walked over.

"Ah, nectar!" Sybil said grabbing it and taking a long gulp. Seeing two pairs of eyes on her, she playfully leaned over to Tom and faux-whispered, "Word of advice, she doesn't like coffee."

Tom laughed. "Thanks for the tip."

"All right, then." With that Sybil waved and left the shop.

"Sorry about that," Tom said, sheepishly.

"It's OK. I'm a tea drinker through and through," Edith replied with a smile.

"I guess I didn't make a good impression by suggesting we meet here, then."

"I only go to Starbucks very rarely, so I suppose it's good to see how the other half lives every once in a while."

"It's a result of living in America—my addiction to coffee. At our bureau in DC, there were like ten within a three-block radius. Didn't think I'd miss them as much as I do."

Edith smiled and nodded. "Must have been an exciting place to live."

"Yes and no. Everyone there is either (a) running for something, (b) working for someone running for something or reporting about (a) and (b), so the people you meet cease to be interesting after about a month."

"But there's so many wonderful museums to visit. I loved the National Portrait Gallery when I was there. Portraiture really is a lost art, don't you think?"

"Um, I didn't really do much of the museum thing."

"Don't tell me you don't like museums!"

"No, I do—it just . . . well, I usually just read, run or sleep when I'm not working. And there's only so much time, when you're chasing leads, right?"

"My journalism is more by appointment," Edith said, trying to make a joke.

Tom looked at her, seemingly a bit confused. "Matthew said you worked for the Sunday Telegraph. What's your beat?"

"Theatre. I'm a critic."

"Oh, so by appointment on account of . . ."

"Of me going to the theater at the appropriate time," Edith finished for him.

Tom let out a small belated laugh.

There was an awkward silence.

"I think I'll go order something," Edith said, standing.

Tom stood quickly and said, "I'll come with you . . ."

"No, it's all right," Edith insisted.

"But—"

Realizing, his intension was to pay, Edith smiled. "I've got this one."

Tom smiled and sat back down.

From her spot in line, Edith peered over her shoulder at him. Tom had a bit of a tousled look about him that she'd find charming were it not for the fact that years of working at a newspaper had inoculated her against a style that could only be described as "rumpled journalist."

There was no denying he was handsome. His shoulders certainly filled out his polo quite nicely, though Edith really wasn't one for too much muscle definition. Or really any at all.

"Teddy bears with soft bellies are more huggable," she'd always say. There was also the fact that anyone too fit would just be a reminder to her of how much she disliked exercise herself.

_Well_, she thought now, _if this is going to work out, I'll have to convince him to let himself go a bit._

A few minutes later, after placing, waiting for, then picking up her order, Edith sat back down with a tray that held two tea bags and three cups, one full of hot water, one half full of milk and the other empty. Tom watched her curiously as she dropped her tea bags into the empty cup and then poured the hot water into it.

"I know it's silly," she said.

"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what I've just witnessed."

"To make a proper cup of tea, one needs to bring the water to the tea, not bring the tea to the water."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Had no idea."

"Not much of a tea drinker?"

Tom shook his head.

Edith leaned over the tea and took a sniff. Once she was satisfied it had steeped for long enough, she poured it over the milk, careful to catch the tea bags before they dropped in.

"And what's that about?" Tom asked.

Edith smiled again. "By pouring the tea into the milk, the milk doesn't get scalded by the hot water."

The picked up the cup with both hands and took a sip. "The best cup of tea in the current circumstances."

"I'm impressed."

Edith looked at him skeptically. "You look more terrified than impressed."

"There's a bit of that too," Tom said with a laugh.

"Well, I appreciate your honesty," Edith said. "So have you been in town long?"

"Just about a month."

"And they're treating you well at the Financial Times?"

"Yeah, it's a bit of an odd transition going from broadcast to print, but it's been enjoyable."

"It didn't even occur to me that you'd be on air working for the BBC," Edith said excitedly. "What's it like being on the telly?"

Tom laughed, and looked down a bit bashfully. "I've never been on air, actually. I was a segment producer."

"And what does a segment producer do?"

"I reported, wrote copy, edited packages together."

"So why the BBC if you didn't want to be an on-air reporter?"

"They were hiring," Tom with a shrug.

Edith laughed at herself. "I guess that's a stupid question."

"No, no," Tom said, smiling. "It's a fair one to ask. When I graduated I knew I wanted to work in the news, but I didn't know in what capacity. I was a stringer with a small paper at first, which was great for the experience, but I wanted to cover politics, so I eventually took an internship with the BBC. I was mostly getting coffee and setting up interviews for senior reporters, but it got my foot in the door. "

"Do you think you'll miss it?"

"Yes and no. I do have to say it's nice to pick up the paper in the morning and see my name on it."

"It's a thrill, isn't it?"

Tom smiled, happy to have finally found something they could agree on.

_Maybe this could work after all_, he thought. "So what came first for you, love of the theatre or love of journalism?"

Edith sighed. "Love of acting."

"You wanted to be an actress?"

"When I was 12 years old, my school did a production of Midsummer Night's Dream, and I wanted to be Helena, but the teacher cast this girl who'd had private acting lessons. She was horrid, and I wrote at length about why in my diary. I told my mum, and she said jokingly that I would make a good critic. I asked her what a critic was and she said it was someone who was paid to see plays and tell people what they thought of them. It sounded like a dream, so it became mine."

Tom smiled as she told the story. "Do you love it still?" He asked.

"There are its downsides, like having to sit through an interview with the occasional self-obsessed actor, but on the whole yes. There's never a weekend I'm not at the theatre, which is my idea of heaven. I don't think I could ever be with anyone who doesn't like it."

Tom scratched the back of his neck. _Maybe not._

It was an absentminded comment by Edith, but having realized she said it, her eyes widened. She hadn't intended to put him on the spot. "Oh, dear. I certainly hope you don't think me closed minded."

"Not at all," he said with what seemed to her like a worried smile.

She started to ask tentatively, "Do you like . . ."

"Going to plays?"

Edith nodded encouragingly.

"Well . . . it's not that I don't like it, exactly. I've just not been in years."

"That's OK. What was the last one you went to?"

Tom thought for a moment, then laughed at the memory. "I was at university and a girl I was seeing at the time and I came into London for a weekend. She wanted to see something on the West End, and we got tickets for something by Chekhov—"

"Oh, what year was it?" Edith asked eagerly.

"Um, I guess that would have been 2000."

"The Cherry Orchard with Vanessa and Corin Redgrave! Oh, how marvelous! "

Tom's eyebrows shot up. "You know your subject well."

Edith blushed slightly. "I am a devotee, there is no denying it. So did you love it?!"

Tom smiled sheepishly. "I fell asleep."

Edith's shoulders drooped. "You didn't!"

"I paid for it, though. She was a theatre lover like yourself, and broke up with me shortly thereafter."

"Well, a bit harsh, perhaps, but I would have scolded you as well. You missed a wonderful production."

Tom shrugged indifferently.

Edith smiled. "I actually have a worse story."

"Don't tell me you've fallen asleep at a play," Tom said with an incredulous smile.

"Oh, no! It was my sister Sybil. I made the mistake of taking her to the opening of Waiting for Godot at the Queen's Theatre a few years ago as congratulations for having finished her medical school exams. Granted she was exhausted from all the studying, but you'd think Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Patrick Stewart treading the boards would keep anyone awake. She actually snored."

"Maybe if they'd been in costume as Gandalf and Captain Picard," Tom said, jokingly.

An odd look came over Edith's face. "Hmmm."

"What?" Tom asked.

"That's what she said."

Edith narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering if Matthew hadn't picked the wrong sister after all. She opened her mouth to say something else when Tom's mobile rang.

With an embarrassed look, he took it out of his pocket to silence it, but on looking at the screen, he saw that it was his editor calling.

He sighed, and looking at Edith apologetically. "I know this is terrible manners, but I'm afraid I have to take this. It's my editor."

Edith smiled. "Go ahead."

"I'm really, really sorry."

Edith laughed. "It's OK, I promise."

Tom smiled and stood. Edith watched him as he walked outside and started pacing the sidewalk as he talked. She turned back around after a minute and sighed. He was nice. Very nice, in fact. But the instant connection she was hoping for had not come. She frowned. Maybe it was stupid to still believe in the romantic ideal, in the possibility that the perfect man for her was out there somewhere. She knew from watching her friends that good, lasting relationships take a lot of work.

_But you have to have something to work with._

Resolved not to give up at the start, Edith shoved that thought aside and decided to invite him to dinner that night. Maybe good food and wine would help stir the senses better than the bitter smell of coffee was currently doing.

Edith took a deep breath and looked back outside. Tom was still pacing, and by the look of it, the conversation wasn't ending any time soon. When she turned back around, she noticed a middle-aged man taking a seat at the table next to theirs.

His tray carried three cups and two bags of tea.

Edith watched as the man proceeded to prepare his tea in the same way she had. By the time he finished, he looked up and their eyes met. Edith blinked, realizing that she'd been staring. She looked away, feeling herself blush.

"I'm rather particularly about my tea," he said, with a soft voice.

Edith turned back toward him. "Me as well," she answered, gesturing at the three cups in front of her.

Seeing them, he laughed softly, and Edith felt warmth in her cheeks spread down into her chest. He was maybe in his 50s, but he had aged well.

_Robert Redford meets Alan Rickman meets Oxford history professor._

"I'm not usually one for Starbucks tea, but I came here to meet someone," he continued.

"Me as well."

"Not my idea to come here. I'd probably have chosen a different locale."

Edith's smile kept getting bigger and brighter. "Me as well."

He took a sip of his tea. He liked her eyes and the way her cheeks dimpled slightly when she smiled, so he kept talking. "My sister is a bit of a pest when it comes to my love life, so she's set me up, I'm afraid."

Edith laughed. "Me as well."

"Do you know how to say any other words?" He asked jokingly.

Edith laughed again and looked away for a moment, in an effort to stop herself from flirting. "Yes," she said as plainly as she could.

But she laughed again and so did he.

Edith took a sip of her tea to try to calm the butterflies that had started fluttering in her stomach.

"I came in expecting the best, but I'm afraid—"

"What's your name?" Edith interrupted.

He was taken aback, but answered with a smile. "Anthony."

"I'm Edith."

"Nice to meet you, Edith."

"I only ask because the person I'm with is talking on his mobile outside and he might come in at any second, and we might leave together and I'd hate to leave and not know what your name was."

Anthony smiled. "Well, now you know it."

Edith bit her lip. "The person who's meeting you, is she—"

"She's not coming."

Without her even realizing it, Edith's smile turned into a grin, which made his smile brighter as well.

"Well, I—" Edith had started to say something to Anthony, but Tom sat down just then, still looking at his mobile. Edith and Anthony exchanged one more glance, Anthony's a bit sad to see the handsome young man she was apparently with.

"So sorry about that," Tom said, finally putting his phone away in his back pocket. "A piece I did on Cameron's porn nonsense that was supposed to run next week was moved up to tomorrow, so that was the news desk calling with some questions."

Edith raised her eyebrows, a bit aghast. "Has the prime minister been caught watching pornography or something?"

Tom looked at her curiously. "No, um . . . it's a ban on pornography he wants to put in place. It's been in the news for a while. This is just a longer, background piece on the history of internet censorship and the possible effects this will have on the telecommunications industry in the U.K."

"Oh, I see. I don't really follow politics all that much."

Edith did not miss the way Tom's shoulders drooped.

"Listen, Tom, I hate to do this, but I actually have to run. I had a call while you were outside."

At this, Anthony coughed. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but couldn't help it, and was surprised by her lie.

"OK, then," Tom said.

Edith listened for any disappointment in his tone. There was none. That was when the plan hatched in her brain.

"Are you free for dinner tonight?" She asked.

The question took Tom by surprise. "I am."

"Wonderful! I'll make a reservation for us at my favorite place. I'll email you the details. I really do have to go now, though. Bye!"

And just like that Edith jumped out of her chair and practically ran to the door, leaving two bewildered men behind.

"That's odd," Tom said aloud.

"What's that?" Anthony asked.

Tom turned and for the first time noticed the older gentleman at the neighboring table. Tom smiled bemusedly. "I thought our date was not going well . . . I wasn't expecting a second."

Anthony smiled, though Tom—even though he didn't know him—couldn't help but think the man seemed a bit sad. "She was a beautiful girl," Anthony said.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Yeah." He turned back to his table and laughed again at the sight of Edith's cups. He stood and picked them up, along with his own, walked over to the trash bin and then headed out, making a beeline for the nearby Tube station.

About twenty minutes later, long after he'd finished his tea, Anthony stepped out of the Starbucks as well. He stopped just outside and took a deep breath.

_She was a beautiful girl._

"Oy! I thought you were never going to come out!"

Anthony turned abruptly and there she was again. She came up to him with a grin on her face.

"I thought you told him you had somewhere to be," he said.

Edith rolled her eyes. "You know that was a lie."

"Well, now I feel bad for the young man. Surely you aren't going to stand him up tonight, are you?"

Edith laughed, and Anthony smiled at the sound. "No, not at all. I'm just . . . rearranging the seating chart, so to speak."

"I don't understand."

Edith took a deep breath. "Well, I know we've only just met, and I never, _ever_ do this. I'm the least impulsive person on earth,"—Anthony smiled at this, and Edith's took it as a positive sign to keep going—"but . . . um, if you're not doing anything at the moment and want to go somewhere else, I can explain. And um . . . we can get to know each other. If you want to. It's possible you don't like talking to strange women, which I'm sure I seem at the moment."

Anthony sighed. "You most certainly don't, and I'd honestly love nothing more, but I haven't got much time this afternoon."

"Oh," Edith said, a bit deflated. "Couldn't you, um, rearrange things too?"

"I wish I could, but the thing is, I have theatre tickets."

**XXX**

That evening, Sybil wandered around one of the pubs in her neighborhood looking for her sister.

Sybil had been planning on doing nothing but veg'ing out on the sofa and watching her old Cranford DVDs and possibly War Horse, so the image of Tom Hiddleston in period garb could convince her not to have a secret crush on Edith's maybe new boyfriend, when Edith herself called to invite Sybil to dinner. She'd told Edith she was tired after a long week at the hospital, but Edith had been rather insistent. Sybil assumed that her evident excitement was a signal that her date with Tom Branson had gone well.

But when Sibyl had actually asked how the date went, Edith answered cryptically, "You'll find out tonight."

After a bit more begging by Edith, Sybil finally relented.

Sybil spent a few more minutes scanning the pub, her favorite—that was another thing. Edith wasn't a big fan of the place. Something was up.

Not seeing her sister, Sybil walked back over to the front door to wait for her. As soon as she got there, the door opened and in walked Tom Branson.

He looked a bit confused. Edith had definitely said "reservations" and though this was definitely _his_ kind of place, it certainly wasn't the "reservations" type.

Looking around he spotted a bewildered looking Sybil, who was already looking at him, and walked over to her. "You again," he said with a smile.

"What are you doing here?" Sybil asked, hoping she wasn't blushing. She had been bad enough this afternoon before she knew he was her sister's date. Now, she had no excuse.

"I'm meeting Edith," he answered. "Are you here scouting for her again?"

Sybil looked confused. "_I'm_ meeting Edith."

Now Tom looked confused as well. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and said, "She didn't say anything about anyone else joining us." He quickly opened up his email to look at the message he'd gotten from Edith and saw that there was a new one.

The subject line read, _I don't think you'll mind_.

He looked up at Sybil for a second, who smiled back expectantly, and he wondered if this was what he thought it was. He looked to his phone again and opened the email.

_Tom,  
You're a really nice person. But I think you'll agree that it wasn't meant to be between us. I believe Sybil was the Crawley sister you were meant for.  
Your friend __(and I mean that), Edith  
PS. All standard threats regarding you breaking her heart apply._

He laughed. Then he read the email again, this time out loud.

There was no hiding Sybil's blush now, so she covered her eyes. "I don't know if you'll believe me, but I had no idea she was doing this," she said with a nervous laugh.

Tom stepped forward and grabbed Sybil's hands and gently pulled them away from her face. Sybil bit her lip.

_The Crawley sister you were meant for_.

"Do you mind?" He asked quietly. "I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"But, I do!" Sybil said, more loudly than she intended, adding to her already considerable embarrassment. "Want to, I mean—which is to say, um, no I don't mind. OK?"

Tom smiled again at how flustered she was. The fleeting sensation that had come over him when she'd fallen into his arms that afternoon came back full force. "OK."

"Shall we, then?"

Tom nodded. They both looked down to see that he was still holding her hands. A bit sheepishly, he let go.

Sybil turned and led them to a small table near the back. They sat down and ordered a round. Before their pints arrived, Sybil excused herself to go to the loo. She went into a stall and took several deep breaths, trying to get a hold of her nerves. She wasn't usually so discombobulated in a man's presence, but Tom's effect on her, it seemed, could not be controlled. She thought about Edith again. With a sigh, Sybil pulled out her mobile and typed in a text to her sister.

_Are you mad?_

"Please answer, please answer, please answer," she said aloud.

Sure enough, in less than a minute. She had her response.

_:) No, I'm neither crazy nor angry. This makes perfect sense._

Sybil bit her lip as she typed back. _Are you sure?_

_YES! :)_

Sybil smiled. _What happened?_

_Ask him._

_I suppose I owe you again._

_No. The universe has already rewarded me. Have to go. Talk tomorrow. Love, E_

Sybil smiled and her nervousness gave way to excitement. She practically skipped back to the table. She saw as she approached that their pints had arrived. She sat down raised hers, and he did the same. They clinked glasses and drank.

"So it didn't go well?" She asked, setting her glass down.

"This afternoon with Edith? I think it might qualify as the most awkward date I've ever been on."

Tom proceeded to relive the conversation with Edith point by point, causing Sybil to laugh throughout his account. When Tom got to the story of falling asleep at the theatre, Sybil said, "In my defense, I was exhausted and told her as much but she insisted. Besides, who _wouldn't _want to see Gandalf and Picard having a conversation!"

"I absolutely would!" He said nodding vigourously.

They both burst out laughing, but when they caught each other's eyes, the laughter faded away. In the dim light of the pub, Sybil's eyes glowed, making Tom feel as if he could look into them forever.

They stayed talking late into the night, drinking beer and eating chips, buzzing not so much on the alcohol and grease but each other. It was past midnight when they finally left. There was a chill in the air as they stepped out of the pub, and it served to heighten their senses when they stepped outside of the warm air of the pub.

Sybil was a few steps ahead. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, smiling brightly all the while. When she opened her eyes, Tom was standing in front of her, and before she had a chance to second guess herself, she stepped forward and placed a firm kiss on his lips. She felt a smile trying to curl on his lips, but he responded lifting his hands to her face and deepening the kiss. His hands threaded into her hair, and Sybil wrapped her hands around his waist, pulling him into her.

After several long minutes, they pulled away, but only slightly, so their faces were still only millimeters apart.

"Do you want to come up to my flat?" Sybil asked in a whisper. "It's only a few blocks from here."

"Sure," he answered.

Tom offered his hand to Sybil and she took it with a smile. They walked in happy, companionable silence.

**XXX**

The following morning, after several minutes of cuddling and Tom teasing Sybil about her bed hair, Tom left so he could go for a run and stop by the newsroom in the afternoon, but they promised to meet up again that night.

After Tom got dressed, Sybil slipped on her dressing gown and walked him to the door. She gave him a long goodbye kiss then ran back to her room and jumped onto the bed with a happy sigh. She looked to her night table where she saw her favorite photo of her and her sisters from Mary's wedding to Matthew. Thinking of how she could thank Edith for the wondrous gift she'd given Sybil, Sybil pulled herself up to find her mobile. Once she did, though, instead of calling, she decided to surprise Edith and bring her a bouquet of her favorite flowers.

Sybil quickly showered and dressed, then headed out to Edith's, stopping first at a florist where she got a large arrangement of pink lilies. When she arrived at Edith's townhouse, she walked up the steps to the door, but was puzzled when she rang the buzzer and there was no answer. Holding the flowers in one hand, she fished her mobile out of her bag and quickly found Edith's number.

She heard it ring, but the sound came from the sidewalk behind her. Sybil turned surprised and saw Edith, pink cheeks and windswept hair and something of a guilty expression on her face, walking up the steps.

Brow furrowed, Sybil gave her sister a once-over and gasped. "Those are the clothes you were wearing yesterday!"

**XXX**

**A month later**

Mary opened the door to find Tom and Sybil on the other side, looking at one another as in love as two people could be. She cleared her throat with a smile.

"Hi, sis," Sybil said, letting go of Tom's hand to give Mary a hug and kiss.

"I don't think I've pointed this out before, Tom, but I'd like to make it known for the record that Edith was _Matthew's _idea. I would have steered you in the proper direction from the start."

Sybil laughed, and Tom scratched his head and smiled bashfully.

In the short time that he and Sybil had been going out—the same amount of time Anthony and Edith had been going out—Tom and Edith's infamous date had already become the stuff of legend among the Crawley family.

"Well, she met Anthony while out with me, so I suppose it all worked out," he said as Mary stepped aside so they could come in.

"Everybody wins!" Sybil said brightly, spotting Anthony and Edith talking with Matthew on the balcony.

Mary laughed. "Isn't it nice when that happens?"


End file.
